


Sh*t Happens

by McVetty



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McVetty/pseuds/McVetty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Coulson and Agent Barton are on a seemingly simple mission when something goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sh*t Happens

It was supposed to be simple. They always say that, when things go wrong. _It was supposed to be easy, an in and out job, wham, bam, thank you ma'am._ Only, it never really goes the way you plan. It should, you're part of SHIELD, but why would anything go right? You have the luck of a dying platypus. So of course, everything goes wrong. What should have been a simple shot and a nice ride home in a military black hawk ended up in shambles.

It started when the drop felt wrong. Clint Barton knew when a drop felt right, he'd been on enough missions to figure it out. When they got to the location, something was off. The two-lane highway was clear in both directions, and the old oak Coulson picked out seemed too low for the job. Clint didn't say anything, he just took his bow and climbed up the tree like a good little spider monkey. Coulson had him check his radio six or seven times, then check his quiver, then make sure he had enough food, and finally the man was pulled away by an exasperated SHIELD agent who had enough of the babying and just wanted to get into their own positions.

Clint waited for nine hours in that tree, staring intently north, through a split in an old oak. By the time anything remotely interesting happened, it was dark and the stars were twinkling in the sky. Headlights cut through the darkness, pairing off. Clint's eyes were sharp, the tiny differences in speed easily marking the headlights as belonging to motorcycles.

Coulson's voice interrupted his observation. “ _Report._ ”

“Target sighted. Shall I take a shot?”

“ _No._ ”

“Sir?”

Coulson didn't reply.

Clint readies his bow, pulling the string tight and notching an arrow. The bough of the tree dug into his leg, and he shifted to relieve the pressure. “They're going to pass me before you make a decision, sir,” he said absently.

“ _Stand down, Barton. Take the shot when I call it._ ”

“Did you skip coffee this morning, sir?” Clint asked, eyebrows rising in amusement. He listened to Phil regardless, lowering his bow despite the feeling in his gut.

“ _Coffee has little to do with it_ ,” Coulson replied curtly. “ _Keep your eye on the target. Is there a motorcycle riding lower than the others?”_

Clint felt his stomach flip. There was something he didn't know about this mission, and things that he didn't know had a better chance of killing him. Forcing those thoughts away, he scanned the quickly approaching vehicles, spotting the one that appeared – at this distance – to ride lower than the others. “You're in luck, or not, because its the second one from the left,” he reported.

“ _The target has switched rides,_ ” Coulson said, and the way he said it left Clint feeling vulnerable.

“What do you want me to do about it, sir?”

“ _Take down the lead motorcycle. We have to do this the old-fashioned way._ ”

“Right up your alley, sir,” Clint said cheerfully, notching an arrow. “This is gonna be nasty. Ready?”

“ _Take the shot, Barton._ ”

Clint grunted, letting the arrow fly. It landed true, not a second too soon. As it imbedded in the tire of the lead cycle, the entire thing went up in a controlled explosion, igniting the gas tank, sending the cycle flying through the air. The five other cycles scattered on the narrow highway, three of them bursting into flames while their riders ditched, and two of them passing through the flames mostly unharmed. Clint noticed when it was too late, and he tried desperately to swing down from the tree, but the flaming motorcycle finally hiccuped, catapulting itself into the air as the gas tank ignited and sending it straight towards Clint Barton's treehouse.

With a startled yell, he fell. Blazing fire engulfed his vision, the sound of explosions in his ears, and everything went dark.

.

 

_Coulson was screaming._

_“Clint? Clint! Where are you? Respond!”_

Lights flashed about his head, sputtering like the ends of fireflies before vanishing into the tar-black night. Something hurt, but he couldn't tell what, because a good portion of everything made up that one something. There was crushing, sudden silence, and he thought he was dreaming the whole thing. He'd never heard Phil Coulson raise his voice, not in all the years they'd worked together. 

_“Clint!”_

The screaming rang in his head, and he realized he wasn't dreaming. Everything rang in his head. Coulson's voice only echoed off of all other things as he struggled to put the pieces together. He tired to respond, sputtering on the blood filling his mouth with every beat of his heart. Strangely, it didn't worry him, the blood. It would clear itself up in time. He was more worried about responding to Coulson, getting the job done.  _Pull through, you've had worse_ , he commanded himself sternly.

He thought he could hear Coulson sobbing. The sound unsettled him.

“Sir,” he said weakly, barely above a whisper.

“ _Clint?_ ” Coulson cleared his throat, as if composing himself. _“Where are you? The tree is empty, two of the bikes are gone.”_

Blood washed over his tongue as he opened his mouth to speak, a gurgle coming out instead.  _Everything hurt_ . He couldn't see a thing, he could only feel the cold earth on his back. “My bow is missing,” he said through the blood.

“ _We'll get you a new one,”_ Coulson answered. Static buzzed through the com link, a metallic slam echoing across. “ _Where are you? We're coming to get you.”_

Sweeter words from a more welcome voice, Clint had never heard. It set him at ease, and he closed his eyes. He couldn't see anything, anyway. Not in this darkness.

“ _Barton, where are you? We're coming to get you,”_ Coulson repeated breathlessly.

Clint inhaled slowly, past the blood and phlegm crowding his windpipe. He didn't respond, like he was looking for the answer but he couldn't seem to find it. On the exhale he closed his hand around thin air. His voice was hoarse. “I can't see. Its dark.”

“ _Its two in the morning, Clint. Its dark everywhere,_ ” Coulson shot back quickly.

Over the com, Clint could hear the panic in his voice.

Coulson lets the silence drop between them before asking, “ _Are you okay?”_

“I feel heavy.”

_“We're coming.”_

Clint wondered how, without knowing where he was. He didn't even know where he was. He didn't know how long he'd been out. He didn't know much, and that bothered him. But he didn't say anything, he didn't want to worry Phil any more than he already had. Stupid, stupid man. He should have seen the danger, he should have left the tree as soon as the arrow hit. He should have... he should have... should have...

 _Phil was screaming in his ear_.

He came to with a snap, coughing and laying on his side, blood flecking the grass. Coulson sounds desperate, and Clint wanted to reassure him, but the words were stuck in the bloody mess in his mouth. _Am I missing teeth?_ he wondered, the question seeming to need an answer. Tongue probing his teeth, he discovers two missing. Spitting out blood, he let his head rest against the ground.

“ _Clint?”_

“Still alive, sir,” he replied weakly.

“ _Good. We have the cadaver dogs looking for you,”_ Coulson said. There was a hint of a smile in Phil's voice, small but present and accounted for. After no response from Clint, the SHIELD agent pressed on. “ _We're close. They took you somewhere. Can you see anything?”_

“Not a damn thing, Phil.”

Suddenly, as if it had crept up on him in his haze, the sound of baying hounds broke through on his right. The noise became louder, deafening even, drowning out Phil's soothing voice, and Clint tried to hold on to the last sounds of Phil reassuring him.

“ _Everything's going to be okay,”_ the voice in his ear said, fading to mute as the dogs came closer.

A wet nose pressed itself against his face, and he groaned. Someone said Phil's name. Another man screamed for a medic. Hands gripped his face, pressing despite his protests. The dogs stopped barking, replaced instead by a shrill ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see, just darkness, so he closed them again.

“Sir, he's lost a lot of blood, and there are burns to a vast majority of his body,” a voice said, somewhere in the distance, as if over some mountains and through thick fog.

The hands moved, brushing through his hair, and a familiar warmth settled beside him. “Clint,” Phil said softly, sadly. Phil was never sad. “Everything's going to be alright. I'm here.”

Clint opened his eyes again, but he couldn't see Phil Coulson. He blinked, trying to see what he could feel right beside him, but there was nothing except a pinpoint of bright white steadily growing larger. “I can see a light,” he sighed, soft and calm.

“Clint...”

“Shit happens, Phil, its okay,” Clint said, sighing one last time.


End file.
